Adding something…


A few years ago I made Christmas stockings for very special children in the family.

I decided to update them today – to add something each year as a surprise so there is both treasured familiarity, continuity and memories and some excitement too!

I didn’t want to make totally new – I like the idea of valuing and adding to what we have

We still have the ones my grandmother made for us and what memories they hold…


pieced and patched comfort…

Not originally a family quilt this one I hold close

So loved and pre-loved  …

It is threadbare – worn, faded, torn – the wadding showing through, so beautifully soft to touch – those are the qualities I treasure. The colours are delicate and subtle, mixed with strong indigo blues.. The piecing is balanced, soothing but always offering interest where the eye rests..

When I was a child and ill, I would lie on a sofa by the fire wrapped in a quilt or eiderdown

I used to gaze at the patterns and colours and stitching. I find I still do.

The quilting, in white cotton thread, is so rhythmic, so meditative. And then, on the borders, best seen from the back, the stitching flows – how it flows!

poetry on the canal..

The last of the poems from my canal reflections work for now… a pause is needed whilst I return to some other stitch work and show progress with it…

I spent a while trying to capture the kingfisher to share here – I had 2 or 3 photos which showed glimpses – but so slight, so fleeting, so tiny.. Elusive, precious, maybe another time…

A kingfisher..                                                                                                                        My caught breath frozen fast                                                                                        opening my heart

A flash of turquoise blue                                                                                                searing my vision.                                                                                                         Sudden, startling, rare

A heron..                                                                                                                            Grey, still, absorbed.                                                                                                            I stand watching, waiting,                                                                                                  eyes at a slight blur.                                                                                                         Slow, calm, familiar


poetry on the canal..

Scarlet red geraniums                                         on my kitchen windowsill

Papery leaves straggling                                   the pungent crushed scent in my hands

A meeting, a recognition                            Loosely nurtured likewise                                    on a barge roof in the morning sun                   the colour calling in greeting

A bee winding a flight path                        between the two                                        Buzzing with thought